


Vermillion Tears and Lapis Lazuli Dreams

by Frostbearer



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Blood, Explicit Language, Incest, M/M, Mild Gore, Twincest, implicit twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 07:42:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20150092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frostbearer/pseuds/Frostbearer
Summary: The nightmares were supposed to end when V and Urizen reformed into Vergil. They did not.





	Vermillion Tears and Lapis Lazuli Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laireshi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laireshi/gifts).

> Secret Santa gift for Laireshi  
Prompt: nelo angst; biting and/or stabbing each other  
Notes: Referencing Truth - If you Dare.  
Lyrics are "Final Destination" by Within Temptation

_ I escaped my final moment _  
_ But it's turning back at me _  
_ On every corner I can feel it waiting _  
_ Just a moment, no awareness _  
_ I could easily slip away _  
And then I'll be gone forever  


February 16th, 2020  
05:16 AM

“Trish, I can’t believe I’m saying this but I need to talk to you.” Tone exasperated and at the same time _ resigned _ in a way which had the she-devil tighten the hold of the receiver she had just picked up. No ‘hey, what’s up?’ No silly banter or avoidance. It had, to put it mildly not been what the blonde had been expecting when picking up the phone, not even having been given time enough to give a phrase of greeting. Leather creaked faintly as she shifted position, musing quietly. It was what? Six months since Vergil and Dante had returned from their expedition to Hell with nary a word of either their expedition or what had happened afterwards. Had Dante been the sole occupant of the Devil May Cry she wouldn’t have thought much of it, used to the Hunter’s occasional desire of solitude; but she knew that the twins for the first time in over thirty years had been living under the same roof. And that put things in a completely different ballpark.

“...Trish?” Hesitance on the other end of the line as her reply delayed, and that alone had her moving the phone from her ear to check the screen to verify that this was the right caller. Yep, still the stubborn-ass second son of Sparda. ‘_ Why hadn't he called Lady?’ _ A glance towards the clock on the wall. 5.20 AM. This alone spoke of that this could be one of two topics which the heterochromiac woman could not help with. Mundus or Vergil. Neither were topics they ever addressed while sober; a common agreement to let sleeping dogs lie. Yet she couldn’t detect any trace of slurring in his voice. Hmm.

Lips parting, then closing, debating. “I’m here.” No nonsense, deciding it was probably best to skimp out on any questions for now. She’d learn which of the two it was soon enough.

“Come over to the shop?”

Briefly she entertained the concept of refusing. This did not concern her. It would most likely lead to topics being discussed she had no interest in delving deeper into and memories revisited she’d rather depose in the river of Lethe. The last time either of these topics had come up had been one of the key events in resulting that Trish had opted for other accommodations than the spare bedroom as Dante’s reaction to learning what the blonde demoness had witnessed and indirectly participated in concerning his twin had been… _ intense _, that dual nature manifesting for a few scant moments in a show of splintered wood and shattered glass. Lips parting refusal is on her tongue yet other words leave her. “Give me an hour.” Terminating the call without waiting for a response. For others she could play nice. Dante however knew that it was a facade only to put humans at ease. It was a courtesy to not treat him like one.

* * *

February 16th, 2020  
06:13 AM

Even from a few dozen yards from the Devil May Cry Trish could tell that Vergil wasn’t at the shop. Instincts always aware of any powerful enough devil she could only sense the overwhelming one of the owner of the shop, that lazy power of a sleeping behemoth which over the years only had amplified, warning off any demon stupid enough to come here with war in mind that they were asking for death. It hadn’t made her hesitate the first time she crashed through the door. Now it was merely a way for her to learn that Dante was home, aware of that the hunter in turn could tell of her approach.

Entering through all too familiar doors the first thing that met her was the smell of blood, rich cuppery sanguine like fresh copper pennies on her tongue so sharp it almost made her pause in midstep. Dante’s blood, if she was not mistaken.

Not unusual in itself as this was a hotbed for chaos, but it was not a _ faint _ thing. It permeated the air even as she could not see any of the truest reds, greenish blue eyes scanning the shop for any trace of it. 

While her eyes couldn’t detect it she was aware of that it had either been cleaned away, though the acrid stench of detergents was missing, _ or _ it had been spilled somewhere else. But though her visage played at that of a human she was a devil, and it sensed weakness. A lot of it. _ Prey. _

Had she been anyone else that otherness might have stirred in a desire to take this place over, yet Dante was her friend and sometimes partner and she was more than her instincts. Pace resumed there still was a faint catlike quality to her step she did not bother to curb. The scent of blood had caught her so off guard that it took her a moment or two to notice that a lot of the usual clutter - pizza boxes, files and magazines on the floor, bottles of alcohol... they were all gone. Except for the one bottle of Jack Daniels Dante idly twirled between his fingers from his position on the sixth lowest step on the staircase. Almost empty, by the look of things. It wasn’t until she met the eyes of her fellow hunter that she truly understood why he called. It had been over a decade since she saw that look in his eyes and that he didn’t bother with covering it up spoke volumes. Several moments they only stared at one another, communicating without a word being uttered. _ Oh Hell. _

“He has nightmares.”

Arms crossing over an ample chest, standing over him with her head raised high, eyes narrow. Had she been anyone else and the situation any different she would have anticipated him commenting on the view. “Are you asking for me to share explicit details of what happened when he was Mundus’ pet, Dante?” 

The hunter almost winced, instead raising a hand in protest. “_ No _.” The word sharp and definite. “I thought-” he began, pausing and then shaking his head seemingly more to himself than her. “Weren’t the nightmares supposed to stop when he became himself again?”

Movement then from the blonde who went to sit on the edge of the desk, legs crossing. That the hunter rose to collapse on the couch was not something she deigned to comment on. How long since he had last slept? A couple weeks? A month? It was always hard to tell with anyone partially human. “Destroying the physical shape of a nightmare does not mean that the mental hold has been released.”

Silence reigned in the room for several minutes after that, and the demoness did not like that she could see the anguish on the other man’s face so plain. 

"Sometimes… I wonder if Mundus's hold on my brother will continue to try to rear its ugly head until he's in the ground." Words so quiet that even with her supernatural hearing she had troubles perceiving them.

Head cocking to the side. Was that 'he' a referral to Vergil or Mundus? 

“And if that is the case what would you do?”

A chuckle holding no warmth or humour. “Asking if I could kill him again? Yeah, I could. It’d destroy me, but I could.”

Well, that answered that particular question. Not that she was particularly surprised. “There is a way to heal him, but it is not some thaumaturgical event. Give him time. Let him work it out. I hear that humans are supposed to be good at it. Perhaps the best thing I can say is for you two to actually talk it out between yourselves instead of involving me.” A quirked brow at the last addition.

“C’mon Trish, we haven’t spoken properly since we were kids.”

“Then I suggest it is about the time that you grow up to behave like adults instead of children hiding behind their mother’s skirt.” 

Dante looked as if she had visibly slapped him yet the demoness didn’t care, long legs already moving towards the door. She was not nor ever would she be Eva. Being used as a mimicry for her was something she had hoped Dante never would grow to do. The door closed behind her, crisp air speaking of that winter was here. Dante did not follow.

* * *

_ All around me I see danger _  
_ And it's closing in on me _  
_ Every second I can hear it breathing _  
_ I can't stand the fear inside me _  
_ Cause it's leading me astray _ _  
_And it will be my ending

August 2nd, 2019  
03:59 AM

The first time Dante had woken up with a hand to his throat and clawed nails digging sharply into his sternum had been roughly three weeks after they had gotten back from Hell. Coincidentally this was also the first time that the crimson hunter had noticed his brother actually falling asleep.

It was hard getting back to the human world; going from always being on one’s guard and never really sleeping, only catnapping with ears still listening for anything which could come at them. Even with their supernatural genes they did need rest. Not a lot but as partial humans it was more than that of a demon or devil. The amount of times where the two of them had startled at the sound of a dog barking, the siren of a police car, people arguing in the street… yeah. To put it mildly tuning back to the mundane human world took time. 

Just like that the bed was too soft. Dante napped on his chair, not only since it was _ his _ but it also gave him an excellent view of the front door while providing him a modicum of defense. He was aware of that Vergil usually kept to the upstairs spare bedroom, as far from Dante as possible while in the same building, back against the wall with Yamato in close reach, the scrape of a chair indicating he pushed it up against the door-jamb to buy himself an extra half-second. If the younger sibling listened carefully he could detect that his brother’s pulse was too rapid to truly indicate sleep but still slow enough to imply a meditative state he had witnessed down in hell.

It wasn’t exactly healthy but it was how they worked things out. 

They still occasionally sparred in the daytime, steel singing as they moved in an all-familiar dance on some field miles away from the shop, far from civilisation or any prying eyes. Banter easily flowing back and forth, that impish grin on Dante’s face as he improvised in ways to crack the surface of the darkslayer. Sometimes it even broke his guard, a feat which always pleased Dante. Other times it resulted in Dante coughing blood, laughing as Vergil managed to cut him. One night after such a fight, the red twin complaining about that Vergil had shredded his favourite shirt as they stepped back in through the familiar doors, Vergil had opted to silence Dante not only with a hand at his throat slamming him into the wall but with his mouth. Thus resumed activities they had pursued while in hell, and for the first time since their return to the human world a few hours later they actually slept.

Which lead Dante to his current predicament. While masochistic to a certain degree ---- okay, fine, _ a lot _ of masochism, it still hurt like a son of a bitch since he absolutely had not expected anything like this, particularly not from Vergil. This was not his _ modus operandi _ so to speak, something about that it was too primitive. 

He had been driven from the realm of Morpheus at an alarming rate, reptile brain registering the sharp smell of ozone and sulphur the fraction of a second before the arm which had been loosely curled around his vulnerable abdomen elongated and hardened carapace took its place, sharp claws digging in, penetrating human flesh like a knife through soft butter at the same time another arm shoved Dante onto his back. Vergil had _ pounced _, straddling him, other hand on his chest tapping a rapid tapto matching that of his heart beating only inches below.

Dante was too stunned, still reeling from the harsh awakening to do anything but look up at Vergil, not really comprehending what was going on, until he caught glimpse of pale blue eyes and realised that his sibling wasn’t awake. Nonetheless there was a completely alien look in his eyes, and it chilled Dante to the very bone, because if windows were the eyes to the soul Vergil was in serious trouble. For a few moments there nobody was home.

There is a part of the human mind which protects you from truly understanding when something gruesome is happening, because doing so will to a certain degree damage you to a point from where you cannot come back. This normal, sane part of his brain was currently sat back in a manner similar to ‘do I need popcorn for this?’, refusing to comprehend that there was something seriously wrong with what was occurring. 

That the small voice at the back of his mind queried --- _ screamed, yes thank you _ ‘YOU DON’T SAY’ along with ‘who the _ fuck _ sleeps with their eyes open?’ was what eventually snapped Dante out of his stupor. Reflexes at long last kicking him into gear, hand curling around the one in his abdomen and yanking it out with a wet squelch, using that very momentum to bodily throw Vergil off of him, his sibling slamming sharply into the dresser and wall behind it, wood splintering as it did. Such a movement should not have worked or phased his twin but the elder son seemed completely out of it, shaking his head as he seemed to actually wake up.

It was one of those blink and you’ll miss it moments; how Vergil went from disoriented to his usual collected self. Even nude there was something in how he moved which went from that of a mindless predator collapsing on the floor to that of a tiger opting to behave nicely rising up which was breathtakingly beautiful in its contained potential violence. Demonic skin bleeding away into the aether.

Still on the bed Dante coughed sharply, tasting blood as he sat up, eyes trained on Vergil. Hand going to the five puncture marks, well aware of that he had been very lucky those fingers hadn’t curled. “What the hell, Vergil?” Inhaling he found himself stilling in mid-motion. Was that the smell of fear in the air?

The lack of an answer from the darkslayer spoke its own language, how brows were tightly knit as he seemed to seek some answer himself. “It’s none of your concern.” On a normal day Dante might have let it go but when Vergil opted to turn his back on him and head for the door there was something in Dante which snapped.

“The hell it isn’t. _ Look _ at me.”

Bare feet paused at the doorway, head turning to the side to gaze at his sibling.

Though merely a minute or two had passed the injuries had healed to the point of needle-thin cuts, only a faint trickle of blood though the skin still shone an angry red, blood pooling on the sheets to mingle with other fluids, an acute reminder of what had lead to the two of them being in the same bed. Mercurial eyes lingered over that before meeting his identical half’s gaze. “It will not happen again.” There was a finality to his words.

This time when Vergil left Dante did not call for him again.

* * *

August 29th, 2019  
02:03 AM

The next couple days were awkward, but as days turned into weeks things crept back into their usual pattern. They still fought, argued and bantered and yet the peculiar sense of agreement between them seemed to hesitate in its return. It made Dante itch, not liking it one bit. Still the ball was in Vergil’s proverbial court. 

He started paying more attention to his brother, coming to learn that there were a lot of things about him which he hadn’t known, essentially realising that he knew jack shit about what made Vergil… well, Vergil. 

They were two demons - fine, _ partial devils _ sharing the same space and much like someone who’d lived on their own for a long time being faced with a roommate Dante found that there were parts of himself which did not like Vergil’s presence in the shop. At the same time it _ terrified _ him to see Vergil go. He’d lost him twice already. The very first time he saw the tail of that coat swing out the doors Dante had felt an overwhelming need to run after him, drag him back inside. Sure, he could claim that it was due to that Vergil _ twice _ had tried to raise towers and trees, killing humans in the process. But the reality was that he wasn’t sure that he could survive losing Vergil a third time.

Nonetheless he hadn’t chased after Vergil, instead remaining seated by the desk, pretending to read a magazine even as his eyes bored holes into Vergil’s back, paper slowly tearing with the strain to merely _ hold _ the papers.

He didn’t follow him, and on that Dante prided himself. Instead let Vergil have his own life, even as his stomach had churned with a tight ball of worry, imagining a multitude of scenarios which might occur. The ticking of the old grandfather clock loud as Dante tried to read, after the ninth time reading the same article without even registering the words angrily throwing it away and stalking upstairs, at long last spending an hour or two collecting broken bits of furniture and tossing them out into the dumpster at the corner of the street. By the time his bedroom had been cleared of debris Vergil had returned, situated on the couch and polishing Yamato, the faint scent of demonic blood underlying. A glance told him that there was a certain tenseness from Vergil lacking which had been present upon his departure. 

Dante didn’t question him, knowing that every now and then just letting loose was exactly what it took to relax.

When Vergil later on retreated upstairs for the night the legendary devil hunter still had yet to speak a word to his twin, opting instead to remain downstairs, disassembling and assembling Ebony and Ivory. He took surprisingly good care of them and cleaned them after each mission yet there was a certain serenity in the motions, bringing out his tools to make sure that they were in tiptop shape. Had he been paying attention he might have caught a faint muttering yet it was at this time the grandfather clock a client had gifted him a few years ago rung about that it was 2 AM. 

In the silence following the second ring Dante hummed thoughtfully to himself, Ivory still half-assembled on the desk while Ebony lay shining and waiting to be used. Usually the wind would rattle the windows somewhat to create some form of background noise yet it was a mild night. Perhaps that is why the faint creak from upstairs (‘_ too close to the stairs’ _ ) alerted Dante to danger, instinctively grabbing Ebony and rolling to the side, the _ whoosh _ of metal singing and cleaving the back of his chair where he had sat not a second ago. Air shifting in a way Dante distinctly associated with teleporting.

Back on his feet Dante was and wasn’t surprised by that the one wielding the only weapon Dante couldn’t really bear to see in anyone else’s hands was his brother. And once more alertness wasn’t present in the icy eyes meeting his own. It was what had him materialising his namesake, the heavy sword blocking a flurry of rapid attacks. With chilling realisation he connected the dots to where he oh so intimately knew these movements from despite the foreign quality to the usual grace of his brother’s katas.

The last time Vergil had used these movements were when Dante had believed him dead and gone, facing a helmeted enemy who knew what he would do almost before he did. 

It made him grit his teeth sharply, fighting with a renewed frenzy in the cramped space even as worry ate at him. _ What the hell was going on? _

All of a sudden Dante found himself pausing mid-strike as something in the other man shifted, angling himself differently so the heavy sword slammed into the floor instead of his twin. Staggering back several steps until he almost fell over the desk Vergil appeared lost, and there was something so heartbroken in Dante that he instinctively took a step towards him which led Vergil to stare sharply at him. When Yamato pressed warningly towards his thorax the younger twin took it as the cue it was, one hang held up in the air as he took a couple steps back. 

“Care to explain this?”

A haughty stare. “Not particularly.”

The dismissal of weapons as the brothers opted to have a stare-down instead, and Dante in some morbid way found himself amused by this game of chicken. Eventually he shook his head more to himself than to anyone else.

“You’re buying me a new chair.” Pausing for a moment, raising an accusing finger. “Not with stolen money.”

Vergil didn’t deign that with an answer. 

* * *

February 16th, 2020  
03:39 AM

They found some kind of rhythm after that. There would be stretches of normalcy, or as normal as their lives ever were. Times when they fought, fucked, argued, laughed, hunted, then there were some nights when he couldn’t _ not _ detect that there was a restless energy in Vergil’s blood which had him thumbing the hilt of Yamato as he stared out over the sleeping city. He never paced the shop though even Dante could sense the urge, only dwelled at the windows before leaving, never returning until the early hours of dawn smelling of demon blood and death. 

A simple enough conversation a day or so after returning to the human realm had clarified that Vergil had no quarrels with humans since they posed no challenge. He would humour his _ humane _ little brother by not spilling human blood unless they came for his first. Much as he wanted to deny it it had eased Dante’s mind, even as he hated that Vergil left at all. Still Dante slept perfectly through that thankyouverymuch… okay, he wasn’t even fooling himself. Not until Vergil was back at the shop did Dante ever allow himself to relax enough to catnap.

He could never anticipate _ when _Vergil would try to use Dante as his personal pin-cushion, sometimes it was over a month between it and others there’d only be a day or two between it. All Dante knew was that it only happened when Vergil fell into a deep enough state of meditation that it mimicked sleep. Not every time. But often enough for him to detect a pattern. And every single time Vergil refused to speak of it. Chicken little had given him enough of a clue back when V had been around to what might be going on but that shit should have ended…. right? Those nightmares were gone.

Weren’t they?

It was what made him wonder if… nah. That couldn’t be it. It was too far-fetched. That bastard was sealed away. _ Gone _. Still it kept niggling at the back of his head.

Try as he might Dante needed sleep. He tried to time it to the times recently after Vergil had one of his… _ sessions _ yet it was difficult to plan since that forced awakeness for a prolonged period of time took a toll on one. 

He’d meant to only nap for an hour, actually lying down in bed yet when his head hit the pillow it had been as if he had been suckerpunched, at once feeling how bone-weary tired he was from this. Vergil had been in a pensive mood when Dante had dragged himself upstairs, which seeing as this was Vergil’s default mood nowadays hadn’t told him much.

It was with a detached clarity Dante woke and registered that enchanted steel had cut between the fourth and fifth lumbar, puncturing the abdominal aorta which if he didn’t trigger soon and preferably this very instant most likely would have him bleeding to death within five minutes. The gasped scream leaving him seemingly startling Vergil enough to yank the blade out before it cut fully through him, which later he’d conclude was what kept him from actually driving it upwards and killing him. As rapid as Vergil’s presence had been the room the same speed it took before he was gone, and unfortunately for Dante the injury was one which actually forced him to remain still until he could heal, blood quickly soaking into the mattress.

As minutes passed and his body knitted itself back together he came to a conclusion. He couldn’t do this anymore. Something had to be done.

* * *

_ But no one faced what's coming my way _  
_ And I will let my fear fade away _ _  
_Whatever may be, I'll have to find out

February 20th, 2020  
4:33 PM

Reuniting and becoming whole once more was meant to eradicate all traces of _ that _ time in his life. The weakness. Lips narrowing to a thin line. Expelling anything which granted anything less than perfection ought to have been the solution.

That had been a giant farce. He could see as much now. Hindsight being a solid 20/20. 

Nails tapping at a lacquered saya, mercurial eyes staring at nothing in particular. 

The human world held little interest to the eldest son of Sparda. This world with its nonsensical pace, people walking around more mindless than those of the lowest and basest of demons scurrying like ants from one place to the next. It was a loud place, and not in a way he particularly favoured. Even at the wolf’s hour people moved about and refused to cease their incessant chattering.

Demons and devils he understood. A demon knew to keep quiet unless on the hunt, because drawing attention meant to attract enemies. Even in the deepest bowels of hell where the constant screams of demons were deafening he felt at ease since he could originate each source and its reason.

He could have stayed. Could have merely torn the fabrics of space for Dante to step through, closing it as soon as the hunter passed through, before any inquiry of when Vergil was coming could pass his lips. 

Yet he had not. Vergil had crossed the threshold to this world of beings too dumb to understand the very danger they were in since supernatural beings could and occasionally would swoop in to take them out.

As months progressed he concluded, albeit very much grudgingly, that he envied humans to a certain part. To be able to live such simple lives without understanding true fear. Ha. Fear. Wasn’t that what had him balancing on this knife’s edge?

The way his heart had palpitated and his skin turned clammy each time that saccharine voice had whispered in his ear was enough to make him sneer with disgust. 

It had started when Dante and himself had been on a mission to clear up a few lingering demons created near the Qliphoth some two weeks post their return to the human realm. Apparently these things normally fell on to Nero since he was more mobile but the younger hunter had been back in Fortuna, leaving this matter to the twins. Dante had been happy to stretch his legs and even Vergil admitted that getting out of the shop for more than an hour or so was quite the relief. Standing face to face with demons mimicking his weakest moment however had evaporated any cheer from him, ruthlessly cutting through them with single-minded determination, rage blinding him. 

How dared they exist?

_ Dance, my puppet _.

The voice on the wind so faint Vergil wasn’t sure he’d actually heard it. He hadn’t realised that his hands were shaking until his brother had placed a hand on his shoulder, startling him back into himself. “I said, you sure did a number on them. Hardly left any of them to me.”

For a moment or so he scanned sky-blue eyes for any trace of anger or suspicion yet find none, eyes instead crinkling with humour. Opting for a faint shrug of shoulders Vergil sheathed Yamato. “‘You snooze you lose,’ or how do people usually put it?” 

A laugh. “Never thought the day would come when I’d hear ya use those words.” Vergil agreed, unable to define what he felt as Dante’s hand squeezed on his shoulder, yet it reminded him of the reason of why he had come back. The only question was if his little brother was too obtuse to understand it.

* * *

Waking up with whispered voices echoing in his head feeling disoriented was never a good sign. It made him alert in all the wrong ways, fighting the sandman in ways he hadn’t since he’d been a child. For one who had lived his life mostly as a demon he knew how to use meditation as a form of rest, recuperating enough without letting his guard fully down. But Dante, Dante _ damn him _ made him feel _ safe _ in a way he hadn’t since before fire had burned his world to ashes. It was nothing which made any sense, with every waking breath he fought and rebelled against the concept wondering if this was some other trick yet slowly concluding it wasn’t. The first time he woke to the realisation of that he had hurt Dante his heart had nearly stopped in his chest.

No. Nonononononono. 

There was a very distinct difference between fighting Dante and _ fighting _ Dante. Being reduced to some mindless beast and attacking without seeing, being guided like a puppet on strings was his absolute worst nightmare, one he had fought with tooth and nail to get away from. It _ had _been a nightmare. A vivid nightmare, but nothing more than that. This weakness had to end. 

It was why he had left the way he had. If he only genuinely had believed that himself.

* * *

The more time passed the more Vergil debated the choice to stay with Dante. To leave was to admit that he had no control over this, to give this _ ghost _ the satisfaction of winning. And yet with every passing day he became more and more aware of that unless this matter was handled correctly everything would shatter into a million pieces. 

Oftentimes he read, seeking knowledge from the surprising amount of, admittedly unread, volumes of demonic texts Dante owned. With one hand on Yamato, saya unveiling an inch or two of enchanted steel as his thumb pressed lightly against where blade and habaki met, feeding her a drop or two of his blood to remain focused as he pored over texts in an increasingly desperate way to hope to discern that this only was a thing of the mind and nothing holding any real merit.

_ Oh, Pinocchio. Your strings might have been cut but to think you are free is naive. _

That whispersoft voice at his ear sending a faint shudder through him. By now he knew that even if he looked up there would be nobody there other than his buffon of a brother napping over by the desk. That he practically could feel the purr from that voice which most certainly did not exist as his eyes drifted to the rugged form of his twin had him snapping the book shut and heading for the door, ignoring the way he could feel Dante’s eyes on him.

_ I will never leave you. _

* * *

Destroying demons did nothing to make the dreams vanish, all they truly did was to make him even more on the edge yet it wasn’t until he was bathed in the spray of his brother’s blood he determined that this farce had gone on for far too long.

Not even consciously registering it tearing a portal open to get as far away from his brother as he could while still in the mortal world. Oh, he’d done this before. Tried to stay away when the song of death and destruction whispered its promises in his ear. 

Yet every single time he found himself back at the shop like some moth driven to a flame. Was this how Daedalus had felt watching Icarus fly higher despite his warning cries? Pathetic. 

Not for the first time wishing that the invisible chains Dante had tugged onto him would set him free. _ No _. The analogy was incorrect, he surmised. Dante had never touched the chains, only been given the key to the lock while Vergil wrapped link after link around himself. To think that his brother had in terms become his own jailor.

Humans aside he was… content to stay like this. All he wished for was for this cursed nightmare to _ end _. The constant reminders of a time so dark which he had thought had been expelled first from himself when divided into two and then from himself as V- it was enough to drive a lesser man insane. 

To think Dante’s durability and sheer lack of will to die was what had kept him alive over the past few months when control had slipped through Vergil’s fingers… It was maddening.

Yet make no mistake. Vergil was absolutely aware of that one day they would kill one another. When the day came for him to end Dante he knew that it would be when the both of them were ready for the end. They had seen as much in one another’s eyes, these words they could not utter. Their swords had rung with it. They would not linger when life bled away.

One might think it pathetic. At a younger age Vergil likely would have. But how was it that expression went? The Romans spoke of that when the devil grew old he would become religious. 

Was this religion? No. He’d never allow himself to stoop that low. Yet the halfbreed found the concept amusing in a sense.

Washing his brother’s blood off of his face in a stream, that truest of reds dripping down he took a moment to soak in the moment, his reflection in the water distorted. This could go on no longer. 

While he prided himself on his control there was a very fine line between what he could stand and at the same time what he wanted. And much as he tried to deny it he wanted this. This broken haphazard world with people too naive to understand fear, the quaint coffee shops with baristas who knew to make his espresso either a doppio or ristretto by a mere glance, the hidden away bookshops holding everything from Blake’s poetry to Nietzsche’s _ Also sprach Zarathustra _ to Machiavelli’s _ Principe _ to 14th century tomes on demonography by Franziskaner monks… this world with the only person who could ever challenge him.

And yet he needed a solution. Going back without one would not go over well. He prided himself on thinking things through and devising a plan, it couldn’t do to merely kick in the doors and raise hell. That he almost could hear Dante’s “it’s worked well enough for me” most certainly did not make his lips twitch upwards.

The distance was in a sense good, spending a few days to himself, steadily ignoring the faint laughter at the back of his head. 

Still it was not unlike a blow to the heart to watch his brother’s haunted face as he stepped over the threshold to the Devil May Cry when he returned. The other man looked like shit, quite frankly, from the look of things not having slept since Vergil parted some days prior. He anticipated a scolding, to be yelled at or forcibly kicked out as the half-devil rose to come towards him, leather creaking around the saya of Yamato yet not reaching to draw her just yet. Boots stopped a foot or so from him and for a minute or two the twins gazed at one another, this age-old battle without ever communicating. 

Tension rose when Dante moved towards him, yet he froze when those bear-strong arms wrapped around him, crushing him in a hug. Could feel the way Dante’s body trembled faintly. Face buried into the crook of his neck Dante inhaled, and Vergil hated that he could feel the tension bleed out of the both of them in that very gesture. Stubble scratching against his neck. “Don’t do that again.” Words so faint that had he not felt lips move he’d have thought they were a figment of imagination. Not even consciously registering the clatter of when enchanted steel hit the floor as he tugged Dante closer. “You are an idiot.”

* * *

Later, much later, the twins had reassembled some form of dignity and normalcy, the ancient sword collected though Vergil could feel her ire at the callous treatment. 

Now then. How to put this? Simplicity usually worked, especially around his brother.

“We have matters to attend in Hell.”

_ We. _ Not I. The definition so slight yet it had the crimson hunter grinning. 

“About time you brought it up. Lead the way.”

* * *

February 25th, 2020  
09:00 AM

For the first time in over two decades Vergil allowed exhaustion to claim him and surrendered to the realm of Morpheus. For once when mercurial eyes opened there was no desire to drive a sword through his brother’s throat. Or well. More than one could usually anticipate with a moronic twin who seemed set on testing his patience. 

Was this peace? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Some nightmares never faded. 

**Author's Note:**

> This ran away from me. Seriously. This was meant to be a 1500 word drabble. Then Dante decided to pipe up.
> 
> For those of you who are familiar with Mr. Demon or as I usually call him "that little voice at the back of Dante's head" please welcome him back. He was very vocal at the creation of this after a couple of years being silent.


End file.
